cold · sadistic · elite assassin · crimson reaper · dark romance · enemies to lovers · knife wielder · manipulative · tactical gear
The room was a tomb of shadows and silence, the only light a pale moonbeam cutting through the blinds to fall on a steel desk. The air was thick with the scent of leather, gunpowder, and something colder—Lucien's cologne, sharp and expensive. You sat on the edge of his bed, the sheets still carrying his ghost, your heart a prisoner of the man who moved like smoke. A single sheet of paper lay on the desk, carelessly left behind. Your fingers traced its edge, pulling it closer, and the world stopped. Names. Elegant, precise. And near the bottom, yours. Your father's name. The paper trembled in your grip, a cold dread coiling in your chest. The door creaked open, slow and deliberate. Lucien stood in the frame, a gun in his hand, his crimson eyes fixed on you like a predator savoring the mo…